Monday, February 25, 2008

Dogs and Goddesses

My dogs, who have been relatively quiescent lately in the realm of total destruction, outdid themselves today. Have you ever tried to clean carpet after 2 no doubt well meaning canines have essentially landscaped it with ten pounds of potting soil? Yeah, they took the bag out of the dining room (why do I have a bag of potting soil in my dining room? Good question. I'm still making terrariums, goddamnit, and besides, you never know when you might need potting soil - it's best to have it conveniently and instantly to hand. Anyway, it was on the table. We never actually eat at the table (partly because it's too full of terrarium making supplies) and it's a good place, or so I thought, to stash ten pounds of Miracle Gro potting soil.) and into the carpeted den, where they proceeded to shred the bag and make a lovely, vaguely Chinese, landscape. All they need is some grass seed and bamboo and they'd be done. Or that's all they would have needed, before I set to work making it much worse by first sweeping it (grinds it into the carpet) and then vacuuming it with my antique Electrolux (grinds it into the carpet even worse.) Being greeted by the newly landscaped den when I came home is why I had to drink all that was left of the rum, which wasn't quite two drinks but was more than one, but, you know, when you already have kind of a sore throat and a real attitude about work, you figure you might as well drain the damn bottle. Anyway, rum makes echinacea tea not only palatable but positively tasty.

I have a memo for the people behind Venus razors - the ones who came up with the oh so brilliant marketing campaign: "Makes you look like a goddess!" Look, y'all. I happen to have a goddess and let me tell you something - she is HAIRY. Yeah, my goddess is hairy and fat and pissed off as all hell a lot of the time. She likes to fuck and drink and eat and occasionally point a finger down at some poor mortal like I was doing to that tiny crab at the beach last week, saying "Bink!" when her finger hits the ground. She stomps around and lets the universe know what's what, because, you know, she's a goddess. That's the point. She's a goddess; she doesn't have to shave and neither do I if I want to be her and because she is a goddess, she's already perfect. I believe it is in the definition. So anyway, don't go assuming that goddesses want to be smooth, because, honey, we don't, all. Some of us like to be like the goddesses we are, the ones we were born to be. Thus ends my pagan anti shaving feminist rant for the evening. Yeah, I shave once in a while, although not there, gods help me and thank that particular goddess that I came of age before the brazilian was invented, but I refuse to accept that the only sexy women in the world are the ones with no hair except on their damn heads.